Terence Fletcher: Say it so the whole band can hear you.
Andrew: [a little louder] I’m upset!
Terence Fletcher: Louder!
Andrew: [loud] I’m upset!
Terence Fletcher: LOUDER!
Andrew: [louder] I’M UPSET!
Terence Fletcher: You are a worthless, friendless, faggot-lipped little piece of shit whose mommy left daddy, except when she figured out she wasn’t Eugene O’Neill, and who is now weeping and slobbering all over my drum set like a fucking nine-year old girl! So for the final, FATHER-FUCKING time, SAY IT LOUDER!
Andrew: [at the top of his lungs] I’M UPSET!
Terence Fletcher: [going back to compose the band] Start practicing harder, Nieman.